


Invisible Touch

by lizook12



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, outside pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizook12/pseuds/lizook12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently the past four months have been nothing but a revolving door of new faces at this desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [effie214](https://archiveofourown.org/users/effie214/gifts).



> For Effie's birthday: a prompt she probably doesn't remember even existed. I hope you have a fantastic, awesome day and enjoy ♥
> 
> Many thanks to **itsalwaysfour** for the feedback. Title from the Genesis song of the same name.

The first time I see her it’s the end of my interview.

I’m making small talk with my prospective employer, trying not to stare at his too blue eyes and strong jaw while searching for just the right note of thanks mixed with confidence, when she rushes in.

She’s a study in movement, her strides long and steady, ponytail grazing her shoulder as she juggles a pile of cables.

“How am I supposed to…” Heels clicking lightly on the floor, she blows out a breath, drops the tangle of cords on his desk. “To communicate with my team if we’re running the slowest internet connection on the planet?”

His eyebrow lifts and I think I catch the hint of a dimple at the corner of his mouth.

“I thought that was the dial-up at the hotel the tech conference was at last month.”

Sighing, she crosses her arms over her chest. “I was sure that was extinct, dinosaur technology really, but—“ She turns and smiles at me. “I guess that just makes us the slowest connection in the  _state_.”

“It’s not a small state either.” I nod, fingers tapping on the rim of my water glass. “If we were in Rhode Island or Maryland it might be ok.”

“Oh, sorry.” It’s as though he’s  _just_ realized I’m there while I’d bet my lone pair of Manolos that she saw me before she even opened the office door. “Sorry, Felicity this is one of the Executive Assistant applicants, Lindsey. Lindsey, this the head of of our Applied Science department, Felicity.”

“Nice to meet you.” I stand, leaning forward to shake her hand and taking the opportunity to hook my bag over my shoulder.

“Nice to meet you as well.” Her grip is firm and when she turns away to meet his eyes I sense some sort of unspoken conversation happening.

“Well…” He pushes out of his chair, quickly crosses to me. “We’ll be in touch.” 

“I look forward to hearing from you.”

I’m almost out the door when all the practice interviews pound my brain and I realize I haven’t thanked him. I turn to say as much and find them both perched on the edge of his desk, her head bowed towards his as he balances a small pile of candidate folders between them.

She’s talking animatedly, her hand waving toward the door as he nods and reaches for the phone behind them. Blindly, he dials the number as her shoulder presses to his and—as my phone starts to vibrate—I know that her interruption wasn’t just an employee desperately needing to bitch to the boss.

They trust each other.

——

My first day is a hectic mess of learning office codes, department policies, and whether Palmer Technologies gets put on hold or automatically is put through to talk with Oliver.

(The answer is the latter, not the former.)

I only see Felicity once, when she stops at my desk to check on how the day is going.

It’s a brief chat, but it’s just the break I needed and I can tell she knows it.

I take her tip about scheduling meetings to heart, set the mail to the side, and go to grab a cup of coffee.

Make that two.

I drop mine off at my desk and then push into his office.

“Some fresh coffee, Mr. Queen.”

Setting the cup down, I start to inform him of the afternoon schedule only to realize he’s staring.

No, staring doesn’t begin to cover it.

He’s gaping at me, gaze ping-ponging between my face and the steaming mug next to the framed picture by his phone.

Grinning, I turn and start to head back to my desk. “I was told no sugar and a splash of creamer, but only when you’re busy.” I pause, hand falling to my hip as I push the door halfway open. “Any other time you can figure it out.”

He chuckles, carefully taking a sip as he rocks back on his chair. “I had a very thorough lesson on how to work the machine, but thank you.” Another sip before picking up the proposal he’s reviewing once more. “This saves me from having to figure out whether the coffee pod is in correctly or upside down…”

——

It doesn’t take long to discover that, despite having been away from his position for some time, Mr. Queen expects business to be handled a certain way.

Charity calls are noted and passed along to Felicity or his sister.

Faxes are ordered and delivered at one-thirty every afternoon.

Sticky notes for meetings are colored differently than ones for calls.

I’m standing in his doorway way, tiny pink paper in hand, waiting for him set aside the design mock-ups delivered that morning as Felicity taps her toe behind me. It’s the first I’ve ever seen her look anything other than completely pulled together, but then she’s probably never needed to be announced before. 

“Mr. Queen…” He shoves the papers in front of him aside, nodding before I even announce her name. Still, this is part of what I’m paid for so… “Miss Smoak is here, she won’t discuss why other than to say it’s not company rela—“

“Let her in.” 

“See.” She exhales roughly, shoulders falling, and I realize just how stressful the past few minutes have been for her. She doesn’t hold it against me though, just nods in my direction as she snags the note with her name on it from my hand and rushes into the office. “He prefers orange for personal matters.”

Pushing his chair back, he finally looks up and grins.

(It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen.)

——

The end of my first week comes without much fanfare.

Well, except for the other assistants covering my desk in streamers and survival tips signs.

(Apparently the past four months have been nothing but a revolving door of new faces at this desk.)  

Oh, and there’s a small bouquet of daises from him.

And the rushed lunch at the cafe around the corner.

He insists on buying even though I warn him the schedule for the afternoon is packed.

I limit myself to half a sandwich and soup, but somehow dessert ends up on the order too and he just shrugs, carefully blowing on his coffee as he thanks me for putting up with everything this week.

He knows he’s difficult, picky, about certain things, but his last EA knew him so well that he didn’t even have to communicate what he needed at times.

I keep my comments to myself on that point, my suspicions long past confirmed, and instead remind him to continue to inform me when something is off or should be changed; the office will be running smoothly in no time.

Back at my desk I wave Mr. Palmer into his meeting, open the take-out container and start typing out an e-mail as I pick at my cheesecake.

from: [deiningerl2@qc.com](mailto:deiningerl2@qc.com?subject=)  
to: [smoakf2@qc.com](mailto:smoakf2@qc.com)

subject: first week success

Just got back from celebratory lunch, complete with outrageous chocolate cheesecake. Actually, this piece is really large, stop by later and you can try it.

I wanted to take the minute I had to thank you for welcoming me into the company, checking in and making this week go so much better than it would have otherwise, and, really, for training him so well.

-Lindsey

(No, seriously, I’m cutting the slice in half, come take it away from me.)

The reply comes not three minutes later, the icon my laptop bouncing happily as if it knows the contents.

from: [smoakf2@qc.com](mailto:smoakf2@qc.com)  
to: [deiningerl2@qc.com](mailto:deiningerl2@qc.com)

subject: re: first week success

Next time I’m crashing lunch.

You were the best candidate by miles—plus you seemed unfazed by my barging in on the end of your interview—so I think you’ve done most of the hard work. And, while there’s no doubt I did train him some, Mr. Queen remembered and has taken initiative of his own.

-Felicity

(I’m grabbing a fork right now.)

——

Weeks later, there’s a natural routine taking over.

I can sense when the day might wear longer than intended, anticipate when a conference call needs to be shifted or put off entirely.

It’s not unusual to find me arguing with the copier.

Writing memos to be sent to other departments.

Trying to make sense of the chaos of Mr. Queen’s desk.

I work mostly with him, but Miss Smoak is a constant presence.

One that makes his eyes glint just so, his focus sharpen that much more.

I’m on my way out for the night, bag tucked under my arm as the elevator slides open and they step out.

Her dress is a bit wrinkled, hair slightly loose in the ever present ponytail, and, though you wouldn’t know it at first glance, his tie isn’t centered as usual.

His fingers brush down her arm as they start down the hall, laughter echoing through the empty office.

She spots me as I dart forward to catch the elevator, her mouth curving up as she waves goodnight and pulls a folder from her purse before letting her head fall to his shoulder.

I can’t stop my grin, the rush of hope that I might find something that warm one day, as they push into the conference room.

Together.

Completely in step.


End file.
